The Highwayman
by Cao
Summary: A summary would give away the story, so please just read the fic and tell me what you think about it. It's to the lyrics of 'The Highwayman' by Loreena McKennit.


The Highwayman 

Story by Cao

Song by Loreena McKennit

Summary: I'm too lazy to write a summary, so just read the fic and tell me what you think about it. It's to the lyrics of 'The Highwayman' by Loreena McKennit.

The moon had risen to its highest point in its nightly journey across the dark, star-scattered sky. The wind hissed through the scraggly trees of winter that clung to the edge of a dark marsh and sailed into the open air. Clouds caught the breeze and moved swiftly across the sky, creating an illusion of a dark sea, the moon being tossed like a ship upon a stormy surface.

Under the illusion in the sky, bathed in moonlight, a road stretched across the purple moor, winding back and forth. As the midnight hour dawned upon the lonely land, the echoing sound of hooves could be heard in the distance. As a dark shadow, a horse and rider ghosted over the lone road. The rider checked his fast pace as he neared his destination.

The Highwayman, as some called him, glanced down the short distance to a small inn isolated on the moor. Upon his head sat a hat of fine leather, a plain white plume jutting from it. He was dressed in a snug coat of dark velvet, the shade impossible to make out in the absence of light, with white lace decorating the cuffs and collar. His pants, made of soft doeskin, were well-fitted, not a wrinkle was to be seen. Dark boots rose to his knee. Upon his waist the moonlight snagged his openly worn weapons. A ornamented rapier hung in its equally decorated sheath, the many jewels on its hilt reflecting the pale light. More modern, a pistol was tucked behind the blade, it's butt also grabbing the moon's attention.

At a slow trot, the highwayman entered the small, empty inn yard, not another beast to be seen but a rangy mutt sleeping beside the doormat. Reaching over, he tapped lightly on the closed shutters, but found that they were locked tight. Instead, he backed his horse up and whistled softly to the window higher up, imitating the call of a night songbird. The shutters of the window flew open, flooding the courtyard with light from inside.

"Bakura! I didn't know you were coming tonight!" a voice cried happily from the window. "Are you staying tonight? I'm afraid my father's asleep, but I could open the door for you."

"No Yami. I can't linger here long tonight. Even though it puts us both in danger, I had to see your face again. But hopefully I will return before dawn," Bakura explained in reply, his horse prancing beneath him. "Yet, if they discover me, as I am sure they will do as they have been tracking me for the past few days, I fear I will have to go through all the fires of Hell to get back to you."

Yami paused in shock, his crimson eyes showing a deep fear. He absent-mindedly began twisting a piece of his golden bangs between his fingers. His slender eyebrows became furrowed in confusion.

"What if you can't get back? What then Bakura?" Yami asked, the fear in his eyes spreading thickly over his voice.

"I promise you, love, I will be back before the first light of the morning. If I do not return then, watch for me in the moonlight," Bakura promised. "One last kiss to seal my oath."

Yami sighed and released his hair. Leaning out his window, he got a close to Bakura as he could. Bakura steadied his horse and stood as high as he could in his stirrups. The height of the building defied their challenge; Bakura could barely reach Yami's hand. But as he had said, he placed a soft kiss on Yami's delicate skin. A blush crept onto Yami's face as Bakura, still holding onto his hand, looked up.

A sweet scent cascaded out of the room beyond Yami and rolled over Bakura in thick waves. Letting go of Yami's smooth hand, he kissed the waves of the perfume before turning and galloping away down the road to the west, never looking back.

Yami watched as his beloved highwayman move swiftly away from him, becoming a tiny dot on the white road before finally vanishing from sight into the horizon.

"Keep safe my love," he whispered to the soft flow of wind, its breeze carrying his words towards the west also, as if following Bakura to his deadly destination. Reaching out the window for the last time, he pulled the shutters shut again. Collapsing on his narrow bed, he sunk into his dreams.

The morning came with no sign of Bakura. Yami waited fearfully as the sun climbed to noon and then began to descend orange into the horizon. Out of the twilight, before the moon had shown its great white face to the world, movement was seen on the westward road. Yami looked in anxiety, expecting to see Bakura racing down the road towards him. His joy soon became fear.

Over the purple moor came, not Bakura, but a troop of the king's finest men. They marched in perfect formation, their redcoats catching the last rays of the sun as they approached the inn. They entered without a word.

The commander, marked by a golden knot on his burnished breastplate, pointed to Yami distinctively before seating himself at the table in the main room. With a worried glance towards his only son, the innkeeper set a large glass of his finest ale in front of the officer.

Immediately, Yami was surrounded by men. They dragged him kicking and screaming to his room on the second floor. Snickering, they removed his shirt and tied his legs to the foot of his bed. A strip of cloth was knotted behind his head, muffling his words.

"What a beauty. No wonder Bakura comes here so often," one of the soldiers exclaimed, running his hands down Yami's bare chest. The other tried to push the hands away, but only succeeded in falling backwards onto his bed.

"Yeah, it's too bad our boss won't let us have a little fun with this one. I would love to have him screaming in pain beneath me as I take him as my own," the other soldier agreed.

Yami's eyes grew wide with fear as he was hauled from his fallen place on the bed. He started to struggle against his legs bonds. The soldiers laughed at his antics.

"You're not going anywhere. Our orders state that you are not to be harmed, but used to bait that thieving menace," the first explained as he grabbed Yami's arms and firmly tied them behind the younger's back.

Yami was terrified. They were using him to trap Bakura, luring him to the one place he would come gladly. He watched as the men, still laughing, strapped a musket beside him, the end pointed at his heart.

"Now keep a good watch for us," they jested, shoving open the shutters to his window. As the first one let the room, the second lingered and briefly removed the cloth covering his mouth, harshly pulling him into a kiss, forcing his tongue into Yami's mouth. Stepping back, he grinned and replaced the cloth before leaving the room after his friend.

In his head, Yami could hear Bakura's words as the moon graced the land with its soft light. His promise bounced throughout his head, distracting him no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else.

_"I promise you, love, I will be back before the first light of the morning. If I do not return then, watch for me in the moonlight,"_

'Then Bakura will be coming to his death. I can't let him die because of a trap he walks eagerly into,' he thought somberly. Suddenly, a grave plan came to his mind. He twisted his hands behind his back, testing the tightness of the knots. They all held fast.

As Yami continued his work, he felt a tingle of blood drip from his wrists where the harsh rope had rubbed the skin raw. Ignoring the pain that it caused, he continued to strain at his restraints, trying to work his hand into the position he needed them to be for his plan to succeed. Time passed slowly, the clock ticking lazily. It chimed nine o'clock, then ten, then eleven.

At the stroke of midnight, Yami's efforts were rewarded. The tip of one of his fingers hit cold metal. Taking a deep breath, he tried to relax as he gazed down the road. They could tie him to his bed, threaten the life of his loved one, but they could never take away his freedom.

As the grim victory was still settling on his mind, his ears caught a sound carried by the wind. He whipped his gaze up from where it had fallen to the window and beyond; the sound continued. The sound of a horse's hooves echoed through the air.

Yami's attention rapidly flew to the room below him. Had they heard it? The echoing grew louder. Yami could hear the sound of chairs scrapping against the wooden floor as they were vacated in the room below. He turned his eyes back out the window.

Bakura topped the small hill and gazed down at the sleepy little inn as he always did. His eyes caught a familiar silhouette in a window on the second floor and rode towards the figure.

Yami wanted to scream out to him; to tell him to stop and turn around before the unthinkable could be done. But he was gagged. Drawing one last deep breath, he gazed steadily at the mounted figure riding toward him. Closing his eyes, he purposely pressed his finger down on the trigger to the musket the soldiers had bound to his side.

A shot rang through the early hours of the morning. The soldiers halted their silent hurry and glanced out at the hill to see Bakura's reaction. The highwayman's horse reared in the unexpected. Taking the shot as a sure sign of danger, he turned around and sped off in the direction he had come from.

It was dawn before he had known the full extent of what had happened during the night at the lonely inn on the moor. As he sat in a lonely corner of a bar in a nondescript town, he heard the others talking about it.

"From what I heard," one started, "the son of the landlord was shot by the redcoats because they knew it would piss off that highway robber. I think the son's name was Yami, or something like that."

"Yeah, that's his name. Such a pretty boy. So he's dead then?" another asked. The first nodded.

Bakura couldn't believe what he was hearing. Yami's life had been taken because he had stopped there and shown the soldiers that he cared about someone. The thief lay his head in his arms and began to weep softly. It should be his life that was taken, his blood spilt. They had only wanted to be together for the sake of love, bus now, because of his foolish mistake, it could never be.

His thoughts of sadness quickly turned to anger. Those troops had taken Yami's life just because Bakura had spoken to him for a few lingering moments. They had driven them apart forever. Bakura rose with rage and overturned the table at which he sat alone. Throwing some money at the bartender for his drink and the wretched table, he stormed from the building. Like a madman, he mounted his horse and galloped hastily back towards the inn on the marsh.

His spurs were red with the horse's blood as he rode wildly down the road, a white cloud of dust trailing after him. Little did he know that an ambush lay hidden on the road, as the soldiers anticipated his reaction to the news of Yami's death. In his rage, he missed any sign of it.

Another fatal shot was fired as Bakura dashed over the brow of the hill that overlooked the inn. Bakura toppled from his horse and fell to the road he had known so well. There he lay in his blood, never to move again.

The tale of the highwayman's impossible love was passed down from generation to generation, first as fresh news, then eventually to legend and myth. But on the colder nights of the year, when the sky has again become a merciless sea and the moon is tossed by torrents of wind, they say a shadow rides on the forgotten road, always coming to a rest at the lonely stone building on the edge of the moor.

-Owari-

Cao: If you need the lyrics, try going to Songlyrics(dot)com and searching there. I'm too lazy to type them all out. And if you want, you can download the song. It's quite good.

Dark: (appears out of nowhere) Admit it, you're obsessed with the song.

Cao: Memorizing the 14 verses does not mean I'm obsessed. Well, tell me what you think. Please?


End file.
